


The Hungering Trees

by ShadowEtienne



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fangorn Forest, Gen, Rohan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowEtienne/pseuds/ShadowEtienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The people of Rohan have tales of the dangers of Fanghorn Forest for good reason.  There are few who dare to live near the eaves of the forest, and those who do must at times face the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hungering Trees

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally planned to be a story for Terrifying Tolkien Week, and then my computer died in the middle of that week. Here it is, only a few months late.

It had been many years since that the people of the Mark had done much other than pasture horses and other beasts in the Wold to the North of the Eastfold. The patrols of the Eastfold yet defended the land, north all the way to the Limelight, which flowed out from the dark depths of Fangorn. The herders of Rohan still made small settlements in the northern downs and pastures, shifting with the seasons and their beasts. Whenever new Riders from the Southern pastures of the Eastfold joined the Riders, there were months of whispers between them and the Men who had ridden in the North for longer, for the reasons that the borders of Fangorn had been all but abandoned were mostly the provenance of legends and old wives tales.

Captains from the North of the Eastfold almost always led those patrols, for they understood that there was danger that lurked in the woods, even if none had seen it in many long years. Those who would take the wood, or even more egregious, attempt to cut wood in the margins of the forest would often never return.

A patrol from further South, near the White Mountains, had escorted a small group, from an area that had been plagued by orcs hat had come down from the Mountains. Most of their lands had been pillaged and ruined before the Orcs had at last been eradicated. These villagers were intent on resettling in the open North, where they would not be infringing on the lands of any other people of Rohan.

The Northern patrols attempted to dicourage them, but they were determined, and they settled their tents and their herds in a bend of the Limelight, not five miles from the border of the great wood. For the first season, for they had come up in spring, they did well enough, and the Southern patrol moved on, duty calling them back southwards. Local herders had stopped and traded stories and goods with the newcomers from time to time, but the Southerners put little stock in their old tales of danger in the woods. They believed that if one wandered too deep, one might become lost, but they were not convinced that any danger would lie in using the resource that lay to their West as they became more settled.

Through the Spring and Summer, they planted gardens and small fields of crops, and tended their animals, horses and sheep and goats. They were happy enough in the tents that they had brought with them, for they knew that they would have the later part of the summer and the fall to build before the winter came. They shook their heads at the herders of the land, who never took even the deadfall from the forest, and lived all their lives in well lined tents that they carried with them from pasture to pasture. The land was rich in the Wold, untouched by plants other than grasses that had fed the land for many years, and the villagers from the south benefited from this.

Their crops grew tall and strong, and the people of the little village began to plan the building of homes. There had not been northern herders in their village for many weeks when they went to collect the first of the deadfall that they would need, for they wanted a good yard in which to keep the horses and other beasts as needed so that they could keep them close in the winter. They topped these buildings with thatch and mud, which would hold tight against the winter winds that they expected to begin before too much longer. Those first ventures into Fangorn were quiet ones, and they believed even more that the Northern herders had become far too convinced by the tales once told to frighten children.

It was not long until they became more bold, venturing further into the edges of the forest for deadfall to create a communal hall, but they were starting to want for fresh logs, well cut to make homes and stores for their grain and crops. A few of them had begun to be a bit suspicious of the woods though, for if they were among the trees too late, the darkest, oldest clumps seemed as though they were whispering dark thoughts against the intruders.

Most of the people of the little village laughed at these few foragers though, saying that they were being affected by the superstitions of the North. One bright, early Autumn day, before any crops were ready to be brought in, a small expedition of young men and women took the walk to the forest with horses to haul the logs that they planned to cut. With them went two of the younger foragers who had heard the whispers of the forest. They believed that they needed the wood more than they believed in the unknown and unnamed danger of the forest though, so they went along, watchful but hopeful.

As the eight of them entered the forest, the two who had heard the whispers, Svanhildr and Arni, lingered at the back of the group. They kept themselves by their horses as they watched and listened to the whispering and rustling trees. Their friends plowed ahead, into the forest, and they saw no real choice other than to follow. It was not far into the forest, or long, before they stopped in a small clearing, tethering their horses and looking for a few strong and sturdy trees to fell. They did not want to take too much from any one part of the forest, for they knew that would not be good for the forest, just as they had not taken too many trees from any one place when they had lived in the South.

The first two trees were felled, and two of the stronger young men hitched them to horses to begin hauling them back to the village. The remaining six moved on to the next clearing, and repeated the process. Soon enough, as the sun began to fall from its midday point, there were only four of them wending their way through the edge of the forest in search of more clearings. As they had traveled, Svanhildr and Arni had been collecting the best of the deadfall that they could find, in hopes that perhaps there would not need to be more trees felled that day.

One of their companions commented, "It seems that the wind is rising," and Arni and Svanhildr looked between themselves, wondering if it was truly the wind, or just the anger of the trees.

When they reached another clearing at last, this one further from the edges of the forest than the first two had been, both of them were relieved to find a rich scattering of deadfall, since they knew that their horses would be unable to bear another pair of trees as well as the deadfall that they had collected. Their two companions took to felling the two trees that they had chosen, and there was much deadfall to gather and strap together for their horses to haul.

When the first tree was felled, Arni tugged on Svanhildr's sleeve and pointed her gaze towards the edges of the clearing. There were trees there that had not been there before, when they had walked into the clearing, and the best exit for the clearing had been sealed. She whispered to him, "We should go, without the other felled tree."

Svanhildr called out to their friends, "Something is amiss in the forest, I fear that we should head for the edges before it becomes too much darker."

Their friend replied, "There is only one more tree to fell, and we have hours before the sun falls. There is no storm brewing."

Arni objected, "But the trees!"

Their friends only laughed and said, "Your imaginations have run away with you from the stories that the Northerners tell."

Arni and Svanhildr kept a wary eye on the edges of the clearing, noting small rustles and movements especially among the tallest, most gnarled of the trees. They were unwilling to leave their friends though, and so they stopped their gathering of deadfall and waited and watched.

At last, the final tree was felled, and they began hauling the trees towards the edges of the forest. Svanhildr and Arni stayed in the back, watching the trees behind them carefully. Sudenly, Arni saw definite motion, and he darted forwards to catch one of their friends by the sleeve, pointing to the moving tree. Their friend's eyes went wide, and he whispered in fear, "How are the trees walking?"

Arni shook his head, for he did not know, but he said, "I do not think that they wanted us cutting the trees. They are angry."

Their other friend stood firm though, and said, "We need these trees for the village, we must keep moving. The edge of the forest is near, and we will be safe there."

Svanhildr and Arni were relieved when they managed to eventually gain the edge of the forest, but they stared in horror as ranks of ancient gnarled trees seemed to flow in front of them at the very edge of the forest. They knew that walking through those ranks of trees would be most dangerous. Svanhildr stopped their horses, but their friends looked at them and asked, "We are nearly free of the forest, why are you stopping? We should continue on ahead."

Before Arni could finish saying, "Those are the trees that were following us," their two friends had moved forward, and as they passed under the arches of the ancient gnarled trees, branches came crashing down on them, burying and battering them with a great fall of wood. The branches whipped about, and Arni and Svanhildr could only stand within the line of younger trees and watch in horror. They did not know if their other friends had escaped the forest unscathed, or if they had met the same fate.

They turned to each other and Svanhildr said, a tremor in her voice, "We should travel along the edge until we find a place where we can escape unscathed."

They walked for mile upon mile, getting further and further from the Limelight and their home, in search of some place where the cruel trees would give way, and at last, after darkness fell, they reached a small grove of flowering trees, sweet smelling and waving in the breeze. The old trees did not cross into the grove, but the grove itself pressed all the way to the edge of the forest. They looked at each other in relief, as they led their tired horses through the grove.

Arni turned as they reached the edge and said to the forest, "Thank you for letting us pass unharmed. We promise that we shall never again lay axes upon the woods of your lands. There was a strange low grown from the largest of the flowering trees, and a swirl of flowers descended around them. Svanhildr murmured, "Thank you," as well, and they started the long walk back to their homes.

When they arrived, the moon was high and bright in the sky, and the small village was lit bright with torches. The people of the village rushed to them, full of babbling questions, "Where are the others?" "What happened?" "Why are you so late returning?"

One of the elders of the village came forwards and spoke more steadily, "The horses returned, all dragging great trees, but none of the other riders who went out have returned."

The two looked at each other, and at length, Arni was the one who responded, "When we reached the edge of the forest, there was a great line of ancient trees, and when our friends who were still with us tried to pass under, the branches fell upon them. They are dead."

Silence fell upon the village then, as they realized that the Northern herders had been right in their wisdom that the forest did not take well to having its trees taken. One of the mothers of one of their friends cried out, distressed, "Then how did you return?"

Svanhildr replied, "Neither of us cut a tree. We were gathering deadfall, and when we saw our friends fall before us, we walked for long hours until we found a gentle grove of flowering trees, and there we went forth from the forest. We thanked the trees for our safe passage."

The following day, the villagers traveled to the edges of the forest in a large group, led by Arni and Svanhildr, but when they came to the edges, great swaths of ancient gnarled trees lined the woods, and nowhere could the bodies of the fallen villagers be seen. The trees groaned when they came too close though, and sadly and fearfully, the villagers retreated.

They used the logs bought with the lives of their young men and women as well as thatch and mud and the hides of animals to finish their building. No more did they even speak of bringing great trees from the forest to help them, but the bravest among them would at times wander within the margins of the forest, carefully and respectfully gathering the fallen logs, and when they left, they would search for the kinder flowering trees, that could be found throughout the year, and thank them for safe passage.


End file.
